Page 64 of Last Man Standing
Dad pushes off the door frame and disappears into the kitchen, stealing my window into everything she is right now. I can’t see his smile; is she okay? I can’t see his bouncing shoulders; is she crying? “You’re a bit jumpy, huh?”
Ya think? She’s terrified.
“You can use the black mug,” he rumbles. “No one uses that, and no one would care if you borrowed it.”
“I-I’m good.”
Scarlett’s voice is so weak, so soft and afraid. For the first time in my life, my fingers itch, not to touch a woman for the sake of touching, but to hold her so she doesn’t have to be scared anymore.
Which is really fucking stupid, considering I’m the reason for her fear more often than not.
“I’ll get out of your space and—”
“Please stay.” Dad’s footsteps, louder than Scarlett’s, thud across the tile. Away from me. Closer to her. He makes me want to peek around the door frame, to see how close she allows him to get, but then another shadow approaches on my left. Another set of dancing eyes.
Just like I did with Dad, I press a finger to my lips and tell Mav to shut the fuck up, while behind me, the coffee machine starts again.
“Don’t run away, Ms. Castro. I won’t hurt you. I won’t even interrogate you, though I know my wife intends to.”
Stunned, Mav presses his back to the wall and watches me through wide eyes.
“Oh, well…” Nervously clearing her throat, Scarlett exhales a shaky breath. “That’s, uh… Thanks for the warning.”
Mav’s eyes glitter with torment. With teasing. When the machine beeps, he leans forward like he thinks I’ll allow him to move past me and peek into the kitchen.
I press my hand to his shoulder and pin him to the bricks. No.
“Sit, Scarlett.”
Sit, Princess.
“No, I—”
Sit, Princess. Please.
“I insist,” Dad orders. “Drink your coffee. Spend time with me.”
Mav opens his mouth, moving his lips and speaking, but without sound. Oh, shit!
I roll my eyes. Shut up.
“I’m certain that welcoming party last night was a little…” Dad starts the coffee machine again, lifting the noisy latch, putting a new pod in the top, closing it again, then hitting the button on the front to get the hot water moving through beans. “Well…” He draws a deep breath. “Scary.”
Mav lifts both hands, uses his fingers as pistols, and shoots off a dozen silent rounds.
Idiot.
“Did you ask my son to bring you here, Scarlett?”
So much for not interrogating her.
“No, Mr. Jameson.” She pauses for a beat, then amends with, “Paul. I didn’t ask him to bring me here.”
She asked me not to bring her here.
“I asked him not to bring me here.”
Fuck me. My lips split into a grin almost broad enough to convince Mav I think he’s funny.
